Graham follows my line of sight before bringing his gaze back to me, a puzzled expression wrinkling his brow. “You want the honey…in your cereal?”
“What? No!” Laughter bubbles past my lips. “I want to try some. What do you normally eat it with?”
Chuckling to himself, Graham says, “It’s good drizzled in oatmeal or yogurt, or even on toast. I’ll eat a spoonful of it by itself sometimes.”
“Oh, no, I won’t be doing that.” My face twists up. “I’ll try it on a piece of peanut butter toast, I guess.”
Strolling over to the pantry, Graham opens it and grabs the bread and peanut butter. I can’t help but watch him as he places two slices in the toaster, then removes a bowl from the cabinet. He’s wearing a backwards hat on his head, a pair of jeans that fit like they were made for him, and a black Carhartt t-shirt that shows off his tattoos, and as I take in the various ink decorating his arms, another tattoo comes to mind… One I’ve purposely chosen tonotthink about—or at least tried not to—since seeing it with my own eyes a few months ago. The one on his ribs that I refuse to believe he got because of me.
I want to ask him about it, but right now doesn’t seem like the appropriate time. Not when he’s fixing me a snack and the tattoo isn’t even visible. He probably doesn’t even know I saw it. Maybe we should keep it that way.
But god, he looks good right now. Well, Graham always looks good, but right now especially. What is it about a man making you food that’s so damn sexy?
It’s toast and cereal, my goodness, Charley. Pull yourself together.
“When do you wanna tell our folks?” he asks, and I practically have to wipe the drool from my chin as he lifts his gaze to meet mine across the counter.
“Huh?” My cheeks heat, like maybe he can sense I was just checking him out.
“The baby,” he says. “When did you want to tell our parents the news?”
“Oh, uh…” I think about it for a moment. Truth be told, it’s not something I’ve thought about much. I’ve been so focused on learning to live with Graham that every other concern or item on my to-do list has kind of taken a back burner. “We could tell them whenever,” I say. “We’re officially past the first trimester, and we’ve heard the heartbeat, so any time we want.” I pause, then add, “But I definitely want to tell your parents first.”
Graham snorts. “Why?”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I shrug. “I don’t know… I’ve always felt closer to your parents than mine, and yours will one hundred percent be ecstatic.”
His brows pinch. “You don’t think yours will be excited?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I’m sure they will be, but I’m also sure my mother will lecture me about…something before the excitement comes. The idea of telling your parents just feels less daunting.”
Graham nods, his expression one I can’t place. “Wanna tell mine this weekend?” he asks. “Everyone will be together at Gemma’s for that barbecue.”
My stomach flutters at the thought, but it’s definitely more of a butterfly flutter and not a dreadful flutter. “Okay, let’s do it,” I blurt out, a smile spreading across my face.
Flashing me a grin that makes my thighs clench, Graham slides the plate of toast and a bowl of cereal across the counter as he says, “Alright, cool. Then we can tell your folks whenever you’re ready.”
I take a small bite of the toast, my taste buds practically bursting as I taste the honey mixed with the peanut butter. “You weren’t lying,” I mutter before taking another bite. “This is incredible.”
“Told you,” he murmurs, pride radiating off of him.
“Catch me eating all of this by myself,” I tease. “You’re gonna wish you never introduced me to this.”
Breathing out a laugh, Graham squeezes some onto a spoon, and my body sets on fire as I watch him eat the honey off the utensil. Eating honey shouldn’t be erotic, especially when he’s not doing anything close to sexual, but with the way my pussy tingles, you’d think he was licking it straight off my body.
Now that’s a nice visual…
Nope.Knock it off, Charley.This isn’t that.
It’s about the baby. Nothing more. I repeat the words I told myself at Dr. Mitchell’s office, but it doesn’t work.
I’m screwed.
15
Graham
“God, I think I might puke,” Charley announces as she walks into the kitchen. Standing in front of the counter, she shakes out her hands before clenching them into fists, pacing back and forth.
